Heaven's Little Mistake
by SpawnofAnarion
Summary: Well, somebody really messed up. Lelouch(at end of R2, do not read if before this) has died. His soul was supposed to go to heaven... but due to a clerical error, he is resurrected in the world of Harry Potter. Can two of the least capable angels in existence get him back before he wreaks havoc on God's plans...? No, probably not.
1. Angels Make Mistakes

Heaven. A realm of vast swathes of clouds and angels, occasionally playing harps. Normally nothing would ever be a problem here. Then again, this wasn't exactly a normal day.

"Accursed Satan! Must he always make mischief on the day our plans come to fruition?" Metatron scowled, gliding quickly over the marble path towards the processing center for the dead.

"This should be handled by another Archangel, lord, even Michael himself! Things really must be terrible if they send the scribe of God to run these errands."

Metatron reached the entrance and pushed through into the cacophony of whirrs and hums, with minor angels flapping quickly on their errands and desperately scrambling to get out of his way.

"00002222560789B...00002222560789C... Aha!" Metatron stopped next to the door he had been searching for and entered. Inside was a small room with a very bored angel sitting at a desk... playing Halo 6.

"Yeah, so, I was just talking to Hermelael the other day about how Jornenael has been eyeing up Meliael recently..." The angel chatted incessantly into the golden cell phone she held between her neck and shoulder while spawn-killing another Forerunner.

"Ahem." Metatron grumbled.

"Oh, what? Just a sec." The angel turned in her chair. "What do you want-" Her face paled. "M-Metatron?"

Metatron folded his arms. "Indeed."

"Uh... call you back." The angel hung up her phone, which then disappeared. "H-how can I, uh, help you, sir?"

Behind her there was a loud explosion, and the screen was painted with the red words **Your Team has Lost.** "Oh! Uh, heh heh..." The angel quickly turned around and turned off the golden Xbox 2160 and golden plasma screen TV, which also disappeared, showing instead where it had been a poster for the TV show Supernatural.

Metatron sighed. "What is your name, angel?"

The angel smiled nervously. "Um, Arael, sir."

"Well, Arael," Metatron began. "Are you aware that the soul of Lelouch Vi Brittania was just routed through your room an hour ago?"

"Uh, who?" Arael asked.

"Lelouch. Vi. Brittania. The boy who actually rid an entire world of tyranny for untold decades by sacrificing himself, the boy who was as close to Christ in spirit as any mortal man could get! Did you or did you not send on his soul?"

"Wait... that guy was a frakking messiah? I just thought he had a funny name."

Metatron raised an eyebrow. "Well, 'that guy' happens to be one of the highest current priorities of Heaven. He did not arrive at his prepared destination. Where is he?"

Arael blinked. "Uhm..." She snapped her fingers and a golden computer appeared. "Let's see here... Ben Smith, Heaven. John Johnson, Purgatory. Jack Smith, Heaven. Lelouch Vi Brittania..."

Arael paled.

"Angel... where did you send the boy?"

"Heh..." Arael avoided Metatron's gaze. "The world of hmm mhmh."

Metatron frowned. "What."

"The world mh phmfmf mphpff." Arael's voice faded into mumbling again.

Metatron scowled. "In the name of the lord, speak up!"

"You'll laugh." Arael said quietly.

"No, I certainly will not!"

Arael stayed silent for a moment. "Harry Potter. The world of Harry Potter."

Metatron blinked. "Oh. Oh... oh no."

"I know, right? It's childish. I just... I mean, I just loved those books, and I thought his name seemed strange enough to fit in... hey, what's wrong with you?"

Metatron was currently staring off into space. "H-Harry Potter... you sent Lelouch Vi Brittania into... do you even know what you've done?"

Ariel scowled. "Jeeze, dude, don't get so worked up about it. Can't we just yank him out of there and put him wherever he's supposed to be?"

Metatron laughed despairingly. "Pull him out? That's not even possible at this point!"

Arael frowned. "What do you mean? It's just a made up afterlife world."

Metatron blinked. "The world of Harry Potter is not a 'made up afterlife world'. It is an alternate Earth, just like the one the child was from. You did not send him to an afterlife. You have reincarnated him in an alternate Earth."

Arael's eyes widened. "I... oh crap."

"I see you understand some of the gravity of the situation." Metatron said anxiously.

"Well, wait a sec. Can't we just ask an Archangel like Michael or Raphael to retrieve him?" Arael asked.

"There are two problems with that strategy." Metatron said, raising an eyebrow. "Number one: all of the Archangels but myself are currently out dealing with some devilry of Satan's, a fact that you and I should be grateful for at this point because of reason number two-" Metatron leaned in. "Michael. You see, the child is a personal charge of Michael's, which means that Michael would be sent in to clean up whatever mess the child decides to make in the world of Potter."

Arael shrugged. "So? Shouldn't be any challenge for an Archangel."

Metatron opened his mouth to speak, but then paused for a moment, looking into the eyes of the relatively innocent angel in front of him. "I suppose you have not had any experience with the politics of Heaven, so I will do my best to explain it to you."

Metatron glanced in the general direction of Heaven's center. "Michael wants only the trust and pride of God. As such, anything that makes him look, in his eyes, the smallest bit incompetent to God, will incur his wrath. Now, retrieving the child and repairing the damage to Potter's world should not be any problem to him; but because the child was supposed to be under his protection it will look as if he made the mistake."

Arael chuckled, but the angel's grip on her armrests was tightening. "But, I mean, there's no way the Big Guy would hold something like that against him... right?"

Metatron chuckled. "God? No. The 'Big Guy' would never be so petty. Michael, however, cannot see that. Unfortunately, that means he would be very angry. As soon as he returned from his errand he would probably come right here and smite you or, if you're really unlucky, cast you down."

Arael's eyes widened further. "Y-y-you don't mean he'd..."

"Send you to Hell?" Metatron shook his head sadly. "If it suited him. Now that we have that cleared up, let's focus on getting the child back before he gets into too much trouble, yes?"

Arael nodded mutely.

"Well." Metatron stood. "Let us head out, then." He grabbed Arael's hand and began to drag her out of the room.

"N-no no! Wait! You're just going to drag me out there? Where are we even going!?" She said, her panicked eyes staring at his hand.

Metatron glanced back at her, confused. "To answer your first question, of course, assuming you do not wish to be cast into Hell. As for the second, we need to go to the World Gate, do we not?"

"T-the World Gate? Well, yeah but...it's just..." She blushed. "It would almost look as if... you know, you just dragging me away like this..."

Metatron blinked. "What do you mean?"

Arael looked down. "N-nothing. Never mind. Let's just go."

Still confused, Metatron lead Arael out of the room. Unfurling his great wings, he turned to Arael. "Hold on." He said, clenching an arm around her waist. Arael gasped as they suddenly set off at an unbelievably powerful pace. She had wings, of course, but Metatron had the six powerful wings of the Seraphim, gracing him with an unbelievable speed.

They soared through throngs of angels, many of which turned to stare.

"Is that Meta-"

"With a female angel-"

"...guess we all get lonely sometimes-"

Arael felt heat beginning to grow in her cheeks. _What do they think I am, his consort or something? He's a friggin' Archangel! The most scholarly Archangel, the one least likely to be doing that sort of thing... ugh! _She shook her head. _Besides, I should really be worrying about BEING CHUCKED INTO HELL RIGHT NOW._

They finally reached the World Gate, a gigantic tower containing thousands of doors, each leading to a different world. A clerk angel flew up to them, frantically scanning his clipboard.

"This is a controlled area. I must ask you to please leave before-" He looked up and noticed who he was talking to. "Oh, Lord Metatron! I apologize, I did not realize it was you." His eyes narrowed at Arael. "Who's this, now? Did she fill out the proper paperwork?"

"This matter is urgent, Dorael. There is no time for formalities." Said Metatron.

Dorael sighed. "Very well, Lord Metatron. Be on your way. One of these times, you should really just come for a social call. Us at HQ were starting to worry that you'd gone and shut yourself up with all your books again, like back in 09."

Arael felt a bit curious. "2009?"

Dorael gave her a strange look. "No... 09. I suppose it would be 0009, AD, if you want the technical date. Say, how old are you, anyway?"

Metatron sighed. "Look, as much as I wish there were time to converse, we really do have an urgent matter to resolve. Could you please just direct us to the door to the Potter world?"

"Yeah, yeah." Dorael reached into his bag and pulled out a golden key, etched with the number 00000031071980, and handed it to Michael. "Should be right about..." Dorael closed his eyes and began to move his arm in circles, pointing at the tower. After a moment it stopped, pointing at a door in the distance. "There!" A golden beacon of light burst into existence.

"Our thanks." Metatron nodded to Dorael. With a great flap of his wings, they were in front of the door.

"Well, then." He glanced at Arael. "Do you need a moment to prepare, or shall we enter?"

Arael blinked. "You mean we can just go right through and we're suddenly in Harry Potterville? The World o' Witchcraft and Wizardry? No complex ritual or anything?"

Metatron gave her a quizzical look. "Should there be?"

"I guess not..." She took a moment to look over the door. It wasn't a very interesting door, just plain old wood with iron bands and a brass ring handle. "Might as well go in, I guess..."

Metatron put the key into the keyhole, twisted, then opened the door. They stared for a moment at a huge vortex of multicolored light before being sucked into it, the door slamming behind them.

"Wonder who that angel was... and why Metatron was carrying her around..." Dorael said to himself. He grinned. "Well... maybe Metatron has finally found something other than scholarly works to be interested in... not bad taste, though she did seem a bit young..."

Dorael flew on, leaving the golden key still in the lock.

Meanwhile, in the world beyond the door, the fifth year of a student named Harry Potter at Hogwarts was about to begin... but there was now another piece on the chessboard.


	2. Lelouch Awakens(reformatted version)

RIIIIIIING RIIIIING.

A ﬁgure lay stretched across a bed. He did not move.

RIIIIIIING RIIIIIIIIIIIIIING.

The ﬁgure's eyelids shuddered, repose pierced by the incessant phone.

RIIIIIIIING RIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIING.

They opened, revealing eyes the color of lavender. _What?_ Lelouch thought. _Where am I? _He sat up and shook his head, trying to shake his head back into order. _Look around._

The ﬁrst thing he noticed was the window.

Through it was a strange city that hummed with cars, crowds, and life. Bright blue skies illuminated the skyline, full of many several-storied buildings and the occasional skyscraper, all of a design alien to him.

_Where am I? For that matter... how did I get here?_

Lelouch looked down at his arms. For some reason, he seemed to be wearing his old Ashford Academy uniform. He reached up to touch his chest where... where...

_Where Suzaku stabbed me_.

Lelouch stared at his hand.

_I... I am dead... _

He looked around again. _But if I'm dead, then what is this place? Who __are those crowds out there? Is this Heaven? Hell? C's world? _Lelouch stood and began to walk towards thewindow... And was suddenly tripped by a bag sticking out from under his bed. To his amazement, he was able to turn the fall into a graceful roll.

He blinked. _Well that was... Odd..._

Lelouch knelt next to the bag and inspected it. _Well... it's clearly __labeled Lelouch on the tag, so I suppose it must be mine. _He unzipped the bag and was surprised to ﬁnd, among other things:

A strange robe,

A short black stick of wood, with a handle of banded gold,

Several textbooks, some with nonsensical names...

And...

Lelouch's hand traced the side of the helmet that had once held his great secret identity. It lay atop his folded cape and suit, nestled between two piles of clothing.

_Why..._ He thought. _Why exactly would this end up in my after-_

Suddenly-bang! A strange object smacked against the window.

Lelouch darted back, but no violent attack followed the noise. He approached the window cautiously and found...

An owl.

Lelouch blinked. _An owl... in daytime?_ He noticed there was a message tied to the owl's leg.

_A messenger owl. Why would someone ever use an owl to send messages? Are there no phones in the afterlife? _

There was a ﬂurry of feathers and the owl stood, looking a bit dazed. After a moment it looked up at him and tapped the window expectantly.

"For me? I wonder..." Cautiously, Lelouch opened the window.

The tawny creature hopped in and stuck out its leg. Lelouch carefully untied the scroll and unrolled it.

It read:

...

Dear Mr. Lamperouge,

Welcome to England! We trust your voyage from the Americas was

comfortable. As the ﬁrst ofﬁcial exchange student from the Ashford

Academy of Magic, we would like to remind you to be on your best

behavior for the duration of your stay. We trust that the textbooks

and uniform we have provided you are in your possession. School

will begin at the end of the summer on September 1st. We will have

a wizarding family, the Weasleys', pick you up at 10:30 on that

morning to take you to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and

Wizardry, where you will spend the remainder of your stay. In the

mean time, we suggest you study and enjoy the muggle world. A

signiﬁcant sum of muggle money has been provided for you, so

feel free to purchase whatever you like. Kindly do not use magic in

sight of any muggles, or we will be forced hold an inquiry.

Yours Truly,

Cornelius Fudge, Minister of Magic

...

_So this is not Heaven, or Hell._ Thought Lelouch. _But what is this talk __of magic?_

He glanced out of the window. _And this is England... The ancient __kingdom who gave Brittania its roots in language and culture... The __land taken from them by the rebel Napoleon._

The more he thought on it, the less sense it made. England had been taken early in Napoleon's wars of conquest, before even steam power had been conceived. This was not that England. There were cars honking their horns right outside his window at that very moment, the room where he stood was clearly lit by electric lighting, and as he watched an airplane soared past the skyline.

_So, then,_ he thought, _if this is not the past, could it be another world _

_entirely? Have I been brought here for some purpose? _

His reﬂection was interrupted by a sharp prick on his arm and the squawk of an indignant owl. It held out its leg, implying it wanted a reply.

Lelouch quickly glanced around the room, noting the desk opposite the bed. He quickly grabbed a pen out of a cup and searched through the various drawers before pulling a piece of paper from the central one. Leaning over the desk, he wrote his reply:

...

Dear Minister,

Thank you for providing for my stay. I hope to enjoy my time here,

and I cannot wait to attend Hogwarts. I eagerly anticipate the

school year, and assure you I will cause no trouble.

Yours truly,

Lelouch Lamperouge

...

Lelouch tied the letter to the owl's leg. As soon as the not was complete, the bird took off in a great whoosh of air.

Lelouch went back to his bag. One textbook immediately, to him, stood out from the rest: "A Comprehensive Guide to World History, 5th Ed."

He pulled it out, propped it open, and began to read.

Much of it he already knew, although the writers of this textbook seemed to have a different bias than those he was familiar with. The diversion point, however, was clear. Benjamin Franklin had resisted the bribe and had enlisted the aid of the French. Washington had prevailed at Yorktown, and a democratic nation was born.

Oddly enough, the age of revolution had failed, Britain had never been lost, and the superpowers of his time had not appeared. The only wars Lelouch thought truly notable were the two world wars and the Cold War. The fate of Japan was radically different, and the weapons that had been used were far more ghastly than many Lelouch had himself used. There was no mention of sakuradite or Geass... _Yet..._ He thought, _there is, apparently, magic..._

Lelouch returned to his bag again and grabbed a book labeled "A Beginner's Guide to Magic". He began to read through it and felt a strange familiarity for it. It felt as if he was only just recalling something he had always known. He grabbed the stick, which he now determined must be his wand, and drew it.

He glanced once more at the book, then set it on his bed. Carefully aiming his wand at it, he said, "Wingardium Leviosa!" And with a swish and ﬂick of an experienced magician, he levitated the object into the air.

_So then, it is true. Magic truly does exist in this realm._

* * *

Lelouch explored the rest of the apartment, or ﬂat as it was called. It had a kitchen, a main room, a bedroom, a bathroom, and several closets. Eventually, as the hour grew late, he returned to the bedroom and prepared to sleep. His mind, however, was still troubled...

_Why am I here? He thought. Is there something I'm supposed to __do? Some place I'm supposed to go? The pages of the history __book drifted through his head. This is a world of war, corruption, __and death... Yet there is much happiness, as well. This world is __kinder than the one before. Should I attempt to create permanent peace once more in __this world? Or... Is this a second chance? A chance to live a life of peace? _

As Lelouch drifted into sleep, he could not ﬁnd the answer.


	3. Angels and Buses

It was a brilliant, cloudless Sunday in London, and the summer sun was beating down heavily on the two figures that had suddenly appeared behind Westminster Abbey.

_Ugh. _Thought Arael. _My head... _she opened her eyes and was blinded by intense sunlight. _OWWWW! That did NOT help!_

She reached up her hand to block the sunlight and realized something. _Hey, wait a sec... I can't feel my wings..._

She felt along her shoulder blades to be certain. _Crap! What the heck happened?_

_Worry not. _Said a voice in her head.

_GAH! Who said that?_

_Well, me, of course. That is, Metatron._

As her eyes adjusted, Arael noticed that she was laying on cool pavement with her head only a few inches away from a large church. On the ground next to her lay a fairly tall, brown haired teenager with his arm thrown across his face.

_As I was saying, you need not worry. Our angelic forms would be far too conspicuous in this realm, so we have been incarnated in forms that appear mortal. In short, we have been disguised as wizards, though we still possess all of our divine energies._

_Okay... wait, how is it that you can hear my thoughts?_

_Angelic telepathy._

_Um, okay... whatever. Where are you?_

_Right next to you. _Arael cast a surprised glance towards the somewhat scrawny teen, whose arm still covered his eyes.

_Hey, why are you a teenager!? Aren't you, like, several millennia old?_

Metatron lifted his arm just high enough to give her an annoyed glance. _Where you expecting me to incarnate as a small pile of dust? You do know that all angels appear as youths, yes?_

Arael looked up and began scanning their surroundings. _I guess. It's just kind of strange. I mean, you look _my_ age._

Arael stretched, yawned, and pulled herself up to a sitting position. _I think this telepathy is making my headache worse. Can we just, like, talk normally?_

"Very well." Said Metatron as he too sat up, hand pressed to his forehead. "Ergh... what is this pounding sensation in my head?"

Arael frowned. "It's a headache, dude. Haven't you had headaches before?"

Metatron shot her a baleful glare. "I am an Archangel of The Lord. Archangels are not supposed to experience headaches."

Arael sighed. "Well, I can tell this is going to be a barrel of fun. Hey, Met-" she caught herself. "Uh, two things. One-what the heck am I supposed to call you?"

Metatron raised an eyebrow. "Can you not simply call me Metatron?"

"Riiiight. I can see that going well." She cleared her throat. "Hey, sir, can I get your name?" She switched to a deeper, gruffer voice. "Mine title be Metatron, angel of The Lord." She looked back at Metatron. "You really see no problem with that?"

"Are you saying I should alter my name?" Metatron looked confused.

"Yeah, sure. Oh, I know!" Arael grinned. "How about... John Smith!"

"No... that doesn't sound right..." The Archangel stroked his imaginary beard.

"I know!" He said, snapping his fingers. "Call me Matt. Matt Eron."

Arael eyed him quizzically. "Matt Eron...?"

Metatron smiled. "Anagram for Metatron. I do love anagrams..." He shook his head. "Anyways, you had two questions?"

"Oh, yeah." Arael looked around again. "Where the heck are we?"

Metatron yawned. "Oh, something like... Westminster Abbey, London, England, United Kingdom of Great Britain and North Ireland, July 1st, 1995. Probably."

"That was oddly specific." Said Arael. "Any idea, then where we're supposed to go?"

"Erm, well... no, not really." He replied.

"Wait, you have no idea where we're supposed to go?"

"No, I do not. However, you would have been the one to specify where and when he arrived."

"Oh..." Said Arael. "Uh... does that mean that anything I might have suggested at the time would be included in this world?"

Metatron raised an eyebrow. "Yes, as a matter of fact. Why do you ask?"

"Oh, no reason." She said innocently. "Anyways, I think I put him in an apartment across town, so we should probably get going and find him as soon as possible."

"Oh, wait!" Metatron said loudly. "What should I call you?"

Arael turned around, a small grin on her face. "Call me Ariel. Ariel Knight. It was my name IRL."

Metatron scratched his head. "IRL...?"

Arael chuckled. "Don't worry about it, dude. Just follow me!" She began to walk... But after a moment she stopped.

"Why have you stopped?" Metatron asked.

"I just realized I have no idea how to get there." She looked around.

They had come out from behind the Abbey and now stood near the edge of the road.

"If only we had a map..." She said to herself.

"Well, there seem to be some right over there. I will acquire one." Metatron said.

"Oh, good job Metaimean Matt!" She turned to face him.

That was when she noticed Metatron was trying to cross the street.

"Wait! Matt, Metatron, whatever, Stop!"

Metatron turned around. "What?"

Metatron was then hit by a slightly out of control transit bus, slamming the archangel into the ground.

"Oh, frak! Frak frak frak frakitty frakking fraktose of frak!" Arael shouted as she ran towards the accident.

"Metatron, you all right? Talk to me!" Metatron lay limply, with a bleeding gash on his head and a small trickle coming out of his mouth. "Fraaaaaaak! Hey!" she turned to the crowd of onlookers that was forming. "Somebody call an ambulance!"

**Several hours later.**

Metatron felt numb. His whole body, in fact, throbbed with a dull, numb pain. With considerable difficulty he blinked his eyes open.

He seemed to be lying on some sort of bed in a brightly lit room. There was something on his chest, although he couldn't quite make it out.

"Where…?" He asked, his voice rasping.

The something sat up quickly. "Oh! You're awake!" She yelped.

"Where am I?" He asked, a cough coming to his throat. It was a strange sensation, coughing. He'd never experienced it before.

"You're in the hospital." They said, voice shaking. "You got hit by a bus."

Metatron tried to bring up a hand to wipe the blurriness out of his eyes but he couldn't seem to move it.

"My arm… is it still there?"

"Yes! Yes, of course it is, it's just in a cast."

"A cast?"

"You… don't know what a cast is?" She paused. "Well…" she looked away. "You broke a lot of bones. You're apparently healing up really quick, but it's still going to be a couple of months before they let you out."

"And… who are you, again?"

She glanced back. His vision must have been starting to clear, because he could make out a strange sadness in her eyes. "I'm Arael, remember?"

And he did. Of course he did. "I'm sorry. I suppose I can't help you in this condition."

"Wait, what are you saying?" Arael's eyes widened. "Are you going to give me the 'mission is too important' line?"

Metatron blinked. "The what?"

"The whole 'you must carry on without me' speech?"

"Well, yes. You must. I am incapacitated. You must stop Lelouch."

"To _hell _with that!" Arael said, rising from her seat. "It's my fault you got into this mess, it's my fault you got hurt so badly, and it's my job to make sure you get better!"

"I do not see how it is your fault-"

"I lead you here, and you stepped in front of a frakking bus! Speaking of which, why did you do that?!"

"Erm…" Metatron looked down at his cast-encased hand. "This is rather embarrassing… I have never been out of heaven before."

Arael raised an eyebrow. "What?"

Metatron sighed. "I am the scribe of The Lord. In the early days I sat by God's feet and wrote Their teachings, sending them on to Michael or Gabriel to pass to the prophets of Earth. I was never intended to do The Lord's work on Earth. In recent times we have had a great many more angels, and now I am simply the supervisor for the great host of God's scribes. An unnecessary one at that. I have spent the last few centuries in the library of heaven, reading all of he works of earth. I had only just gotten to the eighteenth century when this mission arrived."

Arael stared at him, slack jawed. "So you're telling me… you've never heard of the internet? Or cars? Or Television?"

"Well I've heard of them, of course." Metatron said. "I just haven't studied them in depth. Gabriel and Raphael have pestered me more than once into watching a movie or television show with them." He scowled at the thought. "I never did like how I was portrayed in Supernatural…"

"Well, then, what did you think was going to happen when you stepped right out into London traffic? Speaking of which, how are we even vulnerable to that?"

"It's part of our disguise. If we remained as angels, we would be detected by the ministry of magic's department of mysteries and we'd have to deal with them and Lelouch at the same time. We still have our power, but it has been converted into wizarding magic instead and our bodies are relatively mortal."

"Well crap." Arael said as she sat back down again.

"As I was saying, you should really go find Lelouch and-" Metatron suddenly found a finger covering his lips.

"Shut up. I am not going to leave you alone in a full body cast in a British hospital. Is that clear?"

Metatron could see anger in her eyes, but it did not seem to be directed at him. After a moment, he closed his eyes. "Very well. You realize this means that Lelouch will have a several-month head start on us, yes?"

Arael did not blink. "Yes. I do."

Metatron sighed. "Well, since you're going to stay, would you kindly fetch me a glass of water? My throat is parched."

Arael stood up slowly. "Sure… Mister Fontaine." She grinned.

"Mister Fontaine?"

Arael rolled her eyes. "I am going to have to teach you some basic geek culture, won't I?"

"What is a…" She was already gone.

Metatron looked out the window at the pale London sky.

_This does not look good. We are powerless without wands, and if she doesn't go to find Lelouch soon…_

He set the thought aside. He'd worry about it if, and when, there was a problem. For now, they could only wait.


End file.
